


me and You

by emoviolent



Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: Fluff, Forests, Picnics, this is self indulgent and silly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-24
Updated: 2019-11-24
Packaged: 2021-02-26 00:00:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 910
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21544162
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emoviolent/pseuds/emoviolent
Summary: Our bodies fit together like a puzzle; heads turned to the side so our chins are resting on one another’s opposite shoulders, hands pressed palm to ragged palm with slender fingers linked, chests so close that our heartbeats fall in line with one another. We move carefully, slowly, gently with blades of grass tickling the soles of our feet. The warm earth beneath us seems to thrum, alive and aware, moving with us as our love nourishes it.
Relationships: Pete Wentz/Original Character(s)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 5





	me and You

**Author's Note:**

> i purposefully do not use uppercase when referring to myself. this is a self insert for a fantasy about myself and pete. interpret this as you please.

You come to me with doe eyes and flushed cheeks and i greet you with a kiss. Soft, tentative and longing, i let you choose our actions. It is what you need and i am willing to give it to you. 

“May i compliment you?” i ask. i know you will say yes but it is important that i heard you verbalize your desires.

“Yes,” you breath out. Your cheeks turn a richer shade of pink. 

“You look beautiful today.” And you do. Your dark curls are concealed beneath a grey plaid newsboy cap, the brim partially obscuring your honey colored eyes that are smeared with eyeliner. You wear a simple outfit for the day, a brown cardigan with patches in its pockets and mismatched buttons over a dark grey short-sleeved button down and cuffed brown slacks. You carry a ratty tote bag that is more enamel pins and buttons than cloth. You look small in such an understated outfit, fragile and open at his own will. i will take you in any form. 

You look to the picnic basket i am holding and notice my hands closed around something. “What gift have you brought me, darling?” i always have something for you. A homemade morsel, a sketch, a poem or some oddity that conjured your spirit. The last time we met at a coffee house, i brought you a loaf of bread i had baked at home. we ate it together with the blueberry tea and held hands under the table. 

My hands are only so big and cannot hold anything particularly large. The smaller the gift, the more excited you become. “May I see?” Your voice is small and unsure, expecting reprimand. i would never punish you for your curiosity. i unfurl my fingers from around the cloth-covered object and present it to you, silent and patient. With shaking hands you hesitantly remove the cotton material, revealing a stone carved with the initials  _? + P _ . 

Your smile is so wide that it nearly cracks your face in half. You tuck a loose strand of hair hair behind your ear but the wind blows it back into your face. “It’s beautiful.” 

“It’s yours.” i firmly push the stone into your palm, refusing to take no for an answer. This is the only time i allow myself to be forceful with you, when i offer you a gift. Seeing you happy is all that matters to me. “Would you like to help me set up our picnic area, sweetness?”

Grinning, you say, “I would like that.” 

We wonder further into the forest and take our usual path. When you steer us in a new direction, i do not ask questions. You know what you want and i want you to have it. i follow you happily, ignoring the pain flaring in my left hip, knees and lower back as we trek up a hill and climb over logs and boulders. 

Eventually we find ourselves at an opening at the foot of a grassy knoll. From your bag, you retrieve a mahogany plaid blanket and spread it across a patch of mint green grass, placing a tea, two porcelain plates, kettle and two mugs atop it before taking a seat. You pat the flannel and smile at me. i sit next to you and unpack the contents of my wicker basket. Bread, plum jam, a soup made of wild mushrooms, garlic and russet potatoes, a head of lettuce, vinaigrette and matching silver utensils. 

You pour the tea and i prepare our lunch. We eat in silence, fondly glancing at each other every so often. When our meal is finished, you lean against my shoulder and cup my cheek in one hand, caressing the stubble and soft skin you find. 

i toe off my shoes and you follow my action, moving to tuck your periwinkle socks inside of your faux leather Mary Janes and sitting both pairs in front of each other so the toes touch. How cute you are. 

“Would you like to dance with me, Pete?”

You let out a small giggle, bringing a hand to cover your tooth smile. “To what music?” 

Shrugging, i say, “The sound of nature should work magnificently .” At the dubious raise of your eyebrows, i quickly add, “I can play something off of my phone’s speaker if you’d like.”

This time when you smile, it is earnest and unashamed. “I would like that very much, [ **_expunged_ ** ].”

i set my phone atop the closed lid of the wicker basket and hit shuffle on a playlist labeled simply as ///. i do not remember what is on the playlist and i don’t care to think about it as long as i can hold you. 

Our bodies fit together like a puzzle; heads turned to the side so our chins are resting on one another’s opposite shoulders, hands pressed palm to ragged palm with slender fingers linked, chests so close that our heartbeats fall in line with one another. We move carefully, slowly, gently with blades of grass tickling the soles of our feet. The warm earth beneath us seems to thrum, alive and aware, moving with us as our love nourishes it. 

Jeff Mangum croons a sleepy love song and the trees rustle in time with it, wind howling in our ears. The sun pulses above us, warming us to our cores. In a soft voice, you whisper, “I love you.” And i say it back with meaning.


End file.
